I left the Rifle area and soon found myself in the delightful town of Meeker, which seems like a mix of counterculture and cowboy culture.  Here I was able to catch up with the news of the road, at a small coffee shop.

The area between Meeker and Hamilton is prime ranch country.  There are a few reservoirs, here and there.

Around noon, I came into Craig, northwest Colorado’s social and economic hub.  Craig is more workaday than its more famous neighbour, Steamboat Springs, but has its share of culture.  The regional museum is here.

In Carelli’s, a local pizza parlour, student art is proudly put on display.

The last major geological feature in northwest Colorado is collectively called  Fortification Rocks.  This is a memorial to both sides in the Moffat County Indian Wars.

A short ways up the road, I was pleased to be greeted by two hawks.

Colorado ran out of road, about 40 miles north of Craig, and I was fully in the Great Basin of Wyoming.  It was while driving through here that a funk took over, I lost my grip on my emotions, I misstated my feelings towards one of the most beautiful women I have ever known, and I was into the first spiritual lesson of my trip, which has already been discussed ad nauseam, elsewhere.  This is not Wyoming’s fault, or hers.

Baggs, the first town I entered in Wyoming, has a small museum, dedicated to the range land of the upper Great Basin.

After blazing through the cloudy, bleakness of  the Red Desert, I reached Rock Springs, walked around the historic section of the old rail town and learned the consequences of my emotional outburst earlier in the day.

The scenes of Rock Springs are typical of rail hubs in the Mountain West.  It is also a major player in both the coal  and shale oil industries.

I could have easily stayed the night in Rock Springs, but the agenda for the following day included both Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks, and I needed to move on.

Passing Fossil Butte National Monument, I stopped to get a couple of views.

The night’s stop was in Cokeville, with supper at Blondie’s Diner, just before closing time.  My tired countenance made me sport for a rather raucous individual, who seemed to be the town bully.  I ignored his leers and jibes, and he left, with the teen boy who was his only audience, after about fifteen minutes.  The meal itself was good enough.

Hideout Motel was needed that night, and was more than up to the task.

It occurred to me that my friend is far more of a woman, than I am a man.  Yet there was a tomorrow and I would press on.  This is a spiritual journey, and as in Star Wars, the only way is through.

Next:  The Bridger-Teton, Cokeville to Afton.